Notes: This is pretty much straight up Bering & Wells fluff, because, let's face it, this fandom needs some fluff every now and then. Inspired by today's (rather anticlimactic) snow day in the mid-Atlantic. Apologies for any mistakes, I know I probably didn't read over it enough, but I wanted to post while it was still (somewhat) relevant.
The mattress dips and shifts beside me as I slip slowly, gently, into consciousness. I nuzzle my cheek against the softness found beneath it, revelling in my cool, smooth pillow. There's a chill in the air, but I'm warm inside my nest of blankets.
I sigh contentedly, stretching out my legs and leaving them all askew as I twist beneath the comforter. The space beside me is still warm, so I flop onto my other side without grace. I snake my hand out from my cocoon for just a moment to grab another pillow.
I slide it close into my chest and breathe the scent in deeply. It's nothing I can name- no specific perfume, no flower or fruit I can place- but I know it from a place deep within my marrow. It settles me and excites me and all of a sudden my rib cage feels too big.
I drift lethargically in that place between awake and asleep for awhile- I'm not really sure how long. Fleetingly, I consider checking the time, but I'm unbelievably comfortable and my body feels boneless.
Eventually, there's another dip in the mattress behind me and the comforter rustles. I feel my mouth pull up into a lazy smile as an arm snakes around my waist. Warm breath tickles the back of my neck as her body presses up snug against me.
"Hi," my voice is raspy and the sound comes out as more of a croak than anything else.
"Hello, darling," her voice is soft near my ear, "did you sleep well?"
"Mmm," is the only answer I can manage, but I release my grip on her pillow and intertwine our fingers in front of my midsection.
"It's remarkable," she begins, squeezing our bodies closer, but then her feet are like ice on my bare legs and I don't even care what's remarkable right now.
I squeeze her hand sharply and let out a whiney moan in protest. Half-heartedly, I go to pull my legs away from her, but she traps me there with her own.
"Please, Myka," she breathes into my shoulder, "just for a moment. You're like a furnace."
Her words dance across my skin, her nose cold as it nudges into me, and the fight goes out of me. Her feet aren't that cold, I guess. I just sigh, resigned, and squeeze her hand once more.
"Mmm," she moans, her feet snaking around my legs to find new warm places to leech from, "thank you. I've been meaning to purchase some slippers."
"What's remarkable?" I ask after a few long moments, my voice still low and scratchy.
"Hmm?" She's tracing shapes along my stomach and between my breasts and I always like to imagine they are blueprints for new inventions, for new worlds.
"Before," I maneuver my legs so I can switch which one of her feet I'm warming up, "you started to say that something was remarkable."
A sudden thought jolts me into action and I don't wait for a response. I stiffen and twist within her arms so we're facing one another.
"Shit, Hel," my eyes blink open, "what time is it? Did you turn off the alarm?"
I know I should sit up and get moving, it's not like me to be late, but the planes of her face are bathed in soft blue tones and her arm is still snug around me.
"Relax, darling," she smirks in that way that makes my stomach flip, "I've taken care of it."
I've taken care of it. Those particular words coming out of Helena G. Wells' mouth can mean any number of things. I quirk an eyebrow up at her as my sleepy mind runs the gamut.
"Should I be worried?" I grin, feeling myself relax into her embrace.
"I should think not," Helena is theatrically indignant as she runs her fingertips up and down my spine, "I've done nothing illegal, immoral or indecent."
Satisfied with her answer for the time being, I drape a hand on her hip and inch closer to her. Our breasts are almost, but not quite, touching and I take just a moment to consider my position.
"Fuck," I sigh, "you're really hot."
I'm really only this ineloquent when I've just woken up, but I've started to realize that Helena likes to hear me this way, unguarded and unfiltered. She smiles deeply, the one that's reserved just for me, just for this space, and leans forward to kiss me.
It's gentle and tender and soft and perfect and I can't think of the right words to describe it, because my brain was already fuzzy and now she's gone and made it worse. She pulls back after a few seconds.
"The feeling is most decidedly and emphatically mutual," she purrs and I'm convinced that she was a tiger in a past life. I should ask Steve.
"So, what's remarkable?" I ask again, "And what time is it? Do we need to get up?"
Her eyes light up a little, and it occurs to me that they look black in the dimness of the room. She shifts closer to me and now our breasts are touching. And other parts, too, but my brain is full of sleep and the synapses aren't quite firing correctly. It's wonderful.
She nuzzles her face down below my chin, under the comforter, and begins leaving whisper light kisses against my skin. On my collarbone. On a rib. On my neck. This is the best morning.
"I've just, spoken, with Artie," she explains, pausing awkwardly to continue the onslaught of her lips on my shoulder, "We have, a, snow day."
After the last word, she settles in for one last kiss at my clavicle, the tip of her tongue only just sneaking out. She smiles against my skin and holds me tightly.
Her kisses and her hands and just her general self, really, have stoked a low burn inside me. I twist my legs around hers, her feet are no longer cold, and bury a hand in her hair.
"If this is a trick," I say, clearing my throat, "I'm going to be so mad at you."
"It's a blizzard, darling," she pulls away from her burrow and come back up to meet my gaze, "look."
I finally look at something that isn't her for the first time today. Past her, the window is frosted, snow settled into the edges of the panes, making for a pale vignette. Big snowflakes fall so fast and so many that it just looks like one steady stream of white. Slowly, my mouth turns up into a smile, one side before the other.
When I look back, she's staring at me in this way that feels like it might be really meaningful, but I'm not sure how. I slide my hand from the locks of her hair and trace down her jaw to her lips. She barely moves, but I can tell she's kissed my fingertip. She doesn't stop staring.
"What's remarkable?" I ask once more, suddenly breathless.
She gives a slight shake of her head and closes her eyes as my hand moves to the back of her neck. Biting her lip, she looks at me again after a long moment.
"You," she says, squeezing my hip, "This. Myka, forgive me, but I seem to have lost the words."
I'm sure I must be grinning like a fool, but I can't bring myself to care. I guide her close to me, pausing just before we kiss. Maybe I can help her find them today.